


the things we see but cannot touch (and what becomes of them)

by vl19scriptfic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel
Genre: F/M, Gen, bonus bobbi and hunter and coulson and mack mentions, i'm determined to live up to the designation of the devil that i've been given, this hiatus is gonna be a fun one, why am i made of sadness all the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7117675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vl19scriptfic/pseuds/vl19scriptfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In some afterlife, neither here nor there, Lincoln Campbell meets the famed founder of SHIELD, Peggy Carter. Meanwhile, on Earth, the days following Lincoln's death are bleak, and Daisy's family does everything they can to help Daisy through her loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the things we see but cannot touch (and what becomes of them)

**Author's Note:**

> I've got to give a major shoutout to marvelthismarvelthat for all of her help with this. Although we planned to collaborate on this and it didn't quite work out, she was still an integral part of the creation of this fic. Alina, thanks for letting me bounce ideas off of you and encouraging me not to hold back on the Ouch Factor of this, and for all of your support. You're truly wonderful.

Above, Lincoln Campbell looks to the golden cross in his palm. He wonders if he’s back in Afterlife. He wonders why, despite how bright everything is, a gaping darkness threatens to swallow him. He wonders why this cross feels so heavy. 

On Earth, Daisy Johnson lies awake, still as a corpse, wondering why her heart still beats while Lincoln’s doesn’t. 

Above, Lincoln Campbell is drawn from his thoughts by an unfamiliar voice. He turns to see a figure standing behind him- no, he thinks, a suggestion of a figure- someone he recognizes as another person by an unexplainable sense beyond the simplicity of sight. He knows her face, not from speaking to her, but from a photograph he remembers seeing in a newspaper. He can’t be sure how long ago it was. 

“You’ve done well,” Peggy Carter says. 

“Am I-?“ 

“Quite dead, yes,” Peggy answers, sounding both blunt and kind at once. Lincoln supposes this must have been what she was like when she was alive. “As am I.” 

“I figured.”

Peggy reaches out a hand and, after brief hesitation, Lincoln takes it. 

“You’ve left someone behind, haven’t you?” 

“Yeah. I had to. She was gonna-” 

“You sacrificed yourself?” 

Lincoln cannot bring himself to answer. 

“I knew someone like you once,” Peggy says. “He was brave, so brave- he saved the world. As have you.” 

“How do you know that?” Lincoln asks. 

“I watch over SHIELD,” Peggy answers, as if it’s the simplest answer in the world. “I watch over the people who watch over the Earth. I founded SHIELD long ago with the sole purpose of making the world a better place, and honoring a sacrifice made by someone I loved. I knew, from the moment I woke up here, that I was leaving SHIELD in good hands. Yours among them. You have made a fine agent, Mr. Campbell. In another lifetime, you and I might have fought alongside one another. I’d have been proud to.” 

Lincoln doesn’t know what to say. His chest is a battleground of sadness and relief, anger and humility, shame and pride. 

“So what can I do from up here?” he asks. 

Peggy smiles, resting a gentle hand on Lincoln’s arm. 

“Watch,” she says. 

“What good will watching do?” 

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Peggy admits. 

“Then what’s the point?” 

“I’m still trying to figure that out myself, truthfully. I’m quite new at this as well. I think we watch and we hope because that is all we can do.” 

“Is it enough?” 

“I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?” 

Above, Lincoln Campbell accepts his fate, and the cross disappears from his palm.

\---

On Earth, Daisy Johnson is awoken by the thumping of her own heart, and she can no longer hold in the ache that’s been building up in her chest since the day Lincoln sacrificed himself for the world. Her bones shake and her heart plummets as she realizes, again, that she’s no longer dreaming. 

‘He’s gone!!’’ reality shouts, and Daisy answers with a broken cry so desolate it can barely be contained. There are no more tears left, and yet they come anyway. 

Melinda May presses her hand to Daisy’s bunk door, her chest hollow, Daisy’s sobs echoing inside it. She feels each one hammer against the inside of her ribs. 

Daisy hears the telltale creak of her door and recognizes her mentor from the gentle footsteps on the carpet and the gentler shift of the weight on her bed. There is the pressure of a hand on her shoulder too, even gentler still. She cannot bring herself to turn around. Pain is wrapped around her wrists, her ankles, dragging her relentlessly towards the floor, rooting her there. She barely registers her own cries. 

May cannot breathe. Daisy is a statue, a marble monument of grief, and she’s showing no signs of relenting. Statues will not let themselves be loved. May remembers. Part of her remains stone, after all. For all the time she’s cast around her own memories, she cannot recall the way Andrew’s arms felt wrapped around her after she returned from Bahrain. Statues cannot feel. 

Daisy begs herself not to give in. She doesn’t deserve comfort. All the pain, all the death- it traces back to her, in a cruel game of chase she cannot seem to win. 

May shuts her eyes and hopes. 

Daisy’s resolve crumbles. 

May’s arms fold around a trembling Daisy, and the world outside becomes background noise. A strange feeling builds up in May's throat, one that wields the threat of tears. She doesn’t let them fall. She understands the feeling, later. Later she understands it was relief, flooding her from the inside out. Relief because Daisy is allowing herself, if just for a moment, to be loved. Relief because May remembers how hard Andrew tried, and how he failed. Relief because maybe, just maybe, this doesn’t have to do to Daisy what Bahrain did to her. Relief because there is no universe, this or any other, in which Melinda May’s heart isn’t crushed in her chest at the thought of Daisy- loving, empathetic, affectionate Daisy- not allowing herself the same love she shows to others. It comes from pain, May knows. She understands. And it breaks her heart still. 

Daisy buries her face in her mentor’s shoulder and focuses on her breath, low and slow, the way May taught her. She centers herself, and yet the tears do not stop. This is too big a pain to be walled in by discipline. It washes over her, threatening to crush her whole. She lets the two arms around her anchor her to the world as best she can. 

May holds the girl she has come to love like a daughter, and as she strokes a gentle hand through Daisy’s hair, she recalls brushing off Andrew’s attempt to do the same to her. She wants desperately to distance her mind, to tune out the sound of Daisy’s horrible sobs, but she does not. She feels as if she owes it to Daisy to bear witness to her grief. She holds onto Daisy even more tightly. Daisy doesn’t fight it. 

\---

Above, Lincoln Campbell watches the early sun rises on Daisy’s sleeping form, her mentor’s arms still around her, their chests rising and falling in tandem. He aches with the knowledge that he cannot go to her. Only later does he realize he’s witnessed the largest display of affection he’s ever seen May show. As he watches May gently rouse Daisy from her slumber, May’s hand gripping Daisy’s in a gesture of simple solidarity, Lincoln hopes it will be enough. 

Peggy rests a hand on Lincoln’s arm. 

“Did you feel like this?” he asks. 

“Powerless?” Peggy suggests. 

Lincoln nods. 

“Indeed I did,” Peggy answers.

“Does it end?” 

Peggy shakes her head, very nearly smiling. 

“Not that I’ve found, no.” 

“You said you knew someone like me. That he was... brave. Who was he?” 

“Have you ever heard of Captain America, Mr. Campbell?” Peggy asks with a twitch of an eyebrow.

\---

On Earth, Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons keep vigilant watch at Daisy Johnson’s bedside. Daisy stirs as she sleeps, restless with grief, and for all of their brilliance, the two scientists cannot think what they can possibly do to soothe her. Helplessness is not something they readily admit to, but they feel it now. 

Jemma casts a worried glance towards Fitz. His brows are knit, his hand grips Daisy’s and he looks as exhausted as Jemma has ever seen him. Guilt creeps up into her heart, try as she might to shove it away. She recognizes with terror how close she came to losing him, and she recognizes with disgust the small part of her that feels relief that Fitz wasn’t the one on the quinjet.

The glass in her hand shatters, and Daisy stirs but doesn’t wake. Fitz looks up sharply. 

“You alright?” he asks. 

Jemma shakes her head dismissively. 

“Fine, I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just- it’s late.” 

“You think we should leave her alone?” Fitz asks. 

“I think we’re no good to anyone if we don’t rest. And I was thinking- she’ll sleep better with the lights off.” 

Fitz nods. He doesn’t move from the bedside. 

“Oh, Daisy,” Jemma whispers, feeling the warm pressure of tears behind her eyes. 

Fitz simply grips Daisy’s hand tighter. A year ago, he could hardly form a single word. And now that he can speak freely again, he hasn’t a clue what to say. No amount of words can fix this. 

Jemma moves a strand of Daisy’s hair out of her face, as gently as she can manage. 

“Let’s go to bed, Fitz,” Jemma whispers. “We’ll come back first thing in the morning.” 

In silent agreement, Fitz stands. He tucks the blanket up around Daisy’s shoulders, fighting back the sting in his own eyes as a tear leaks slowly down Daisy’s cheek. He brushes it away. 

Jemma takes Fitz’s hand, a welcome pressure, and as they walk out of the infirmary down the long corridor, she leans her head against his shoulder. 

“I don’t know what to do, Fitz,” she whispers. “She’s in so much pain. And I- I feel so horrible for being relieved that you and I still have one another. Who does Daisy have, now?” 

“Hey, hey.” Fitz stops walking, turning to face Jemma, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Us. She has us. We won’t let her be alone.” 

Jemma manages a small smile through her tears. “No, we won’t. You’re right. And we can’t let her be alone right now.” 

Hours later, when Phil Coulson walks by the infirmary and sees two sleeping figures on either side of Daisy’s bed, their arms tucked up under their heads like pillows, he cannot bring himself to wake them. 

\---

Above, Lincoln Campbell paces restlessly.

“It feels like it’s been forever,” he says. 

“Indeed it does,” Peggy responds. “I feel a bit lost myself.” 

“What do you think we’re supposed to do? Up here, I mean? Because just sitting here, watching? Forever? That can’t be it.” 

Peggy shakes her head. “I don’t think it is.” 

“How would we know?” 

Peggy shrugs. “I think one day we just… move on. Close our eyes and let go.” 

“You think it’s that simple?”

When Peggy laughs, Lincoln recognizes both wisdom and fear in her. Experienced an agent as she might have been in life, she’s level with him now. Neither of them can quite understand their situation. They’re only beginning to understand how death truly works. 

“Actually, yes,” Peggy says. “And no. We have no way of knowing, really. It’s a leap we have to take anyway.” 

“Will you? Move on, I mean?” 

Peggy is silent, looking to something beyond an invisible horizon. 

“I think I must, eventually. As must you.” 

“And what about him? And your family? Aren’t you- aren’t you worried about them?” 

Peggy smiles sadly. Lincoln sees a lifetime in it. 

“Of course I am,” Peggy says. “But there comes a point, here, where you’re able to trust that the people you love will be alright. I’ve reached that point, I believe.” 

“So what’s stopping you, then? Shouldn’t you go? I know who you are, what you did for SHIELD. For the world. You should rest. You definitely deserve it.” 

“Not just yet, I don’t think, Mr. Campbell. For the time being, I’ll stay. I don’t wish to leave you here on your own.” 

Lincoln can't think of the words to fit what he feels. He looks downward, down past dozens of memories and milestones and achievements, down towards the home he’s only been away from for a short while. If he concentrates, he still feels its gravitational pull. 

“I’m gonna do what you said to do,” he says. “Wait until I trust that they’ll be okay. Wait until I trust Daisy’ll be okay.” 

“And I’ll be here until you do,” Peggy answers. 

\---

On Earth, Daisy Johnson shuts the hangar door at her back, as quietly as she can. She thinks, with an ache in her chest, of how much she loves the people she’s leaving behind. She thinks of how she cannot look back. After all, the gods themselves told Orpheus he could not look back. When he did, he doomed the one he loved forever. She will not do the same. 

Above, Lincoln Campbell shuts his eyes, reaching out to Daisy with his mind, futile as he thinks it may be. He pictures her eyes, the way her skin felt under his fingers, the gentle thrumming of her pulse when he’d place his hands against her temples. 

On Earth, Daisy Johnson raises a hand to her cheek, feeling the echo of a sensation that can only be a memory. A memory of Lincoln’s gentle fingertips brushing across her face. It only lasts a moment. Daisy won’t let herself forget. 

Melinda May wakes with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Phil Coulson paces in his office, the floor not quite sitting right under his feet. Jemma Simmons grips Leo Fitz’s hand. Neither of them are quite sure why the air feels so wrong. Alphonso Mackenzie winds a metal bolt nervously through his fingers. Far away, Bobbi Morse and Lance Hunter cannot sleep, unable to explain away the sudden insomnia. 

Above, Lincoln Campbell watches. He wishes, with everything he has left, that he could do more. 

On Earth, SHIELD feels a phantom pain in a limb that no longer exists. 

Above, Lincoln Campbell barely hears Peggy Carter’s reassuring words. 

“She’ll be alright. She’ll do good, as she’s always done. She’ll find her way home, when she’s ready.” 

On Earth, Daisy Johnson runs.


End file.
